792 

Ir8a. 

/ 


Irviri! 


The  art  of  act 


in 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

University  of  Illinois  Library 

UC"* 

MhV  13 

U ' ■ i jr- 

» nW  1, 

es4 

^Oi/, 

V 

MRY  21  i363 

U 

HAH  31  19^ 

Atf-''  ' V 

' P5!P|  f 

' 1 mr 

JUH  -0  IS6' 

JUh  1 

5 }9G8 

DECl  3? 

Oil 

M 18  196 

j flue 

DEC  -3  19? 

FEB  I 5 m 

a APR  2 

IW73 

\ 

/-cP; 

-■irri§§t 

L161— H41 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/artofactingOOirvi 


PRICE  TWENTY-FIVE  CENTS. 


THE  ART  OE  ACTING 


HENRY  IRVING. 


ArTTlOTnZED  E Bin  ox. 


CHICAGO: 

THE  DRAMATIC  PURLISHING  COMPANY. 


THE  ART  OF  ACTENG. 


■r<> 


THE  ART  OF  ACTING 


BY 


HENRY  IRVING. 


AUTHORIZED  EDITION. 


CHICAGO: 

THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


THE  ART  OF  ACTING. 


I. 

THE  OCCASION. 


I am  deeply  sensible  of  the  compliment  that  has  been 
paid,  not  so  much  to  me  personally  as  to  the  calling*  1 
represent,  by  the  invitation  to  deliver  an  address  to  the 
students  of  this  University.  As  an  actor,  and  especially 
as  an  English  actor,  it  is  a great  pleasure  to  speak  for  my 
art  in  one  of  the  chief  centres  of  American  culture  ; for 
in  inviting  me  here  to-day  you  intended,  I believe,  to 
recognize  the  drama  as  an  educational  influence,  to  show 
a genuine  interest  in  the  stage  as  a factor  in  life  which 
must  be  accepted  and  not  ignored  by  intelligent  people. 
I have  thought  that  the  best  use  I can  make  of  the  privi- 
lege  you  have  conferred  upon  me  is  to  offer  you,  as  well 
as  I am  able,  something  like  a practical  exposition  of  my 
art  ; for  it  may  chance— who  knows  ? — that  some  of  you 
may  at  some  future  time  be  disposed  to  adopt  it  as  a vo- 
cation. Not  that  I wish  to  be  regarded  as  a tempter  who 
has  come  among  you  to  seduce  you  from  your  present 
studies  by  artful  pictures  of  the  fascinations  of  the  foot- 
lights. But  I naturally  supposed  that  you  would  like  me 
to  choose,  as  the  theme  of  my  address,  the  subject  in 
which  I am  most  interested,  and  to  which  my  life  has 
been  devoted  ; and  that  if  any  students  here  should  ever 
determine  to  become  actors,  they  could  not  be  much  the 

* An  address  delivered  to  the  students  of  Harvard  University. 


4 


THE  ART  OF  ACTING. 


worse  for  the  information  and  counsel  I could  gather  for 
them  from  a tolerably  extensive  experience.  This  sub- 
ject will,  I trust,  be  welcome  to  all  of  you  who  are  inter- 
ested in  the  stage  as  an  institution  which  appeals  to  the 
sober  minded  and  intelligent;  for  I take  it  that  you  have 
no  lingering  prejudice  against  the  theatre,  or  else  I 
should  not  be  here.  Nor  are  you  disposed,  like  certain 
good  people,  to  object  to  the  theatre  simply  as  a name. 
These  sticklers  for  principle  would  never  enter  a play- 
house for  worlds  ; and  I have  heard  that  in  a famous  city, 
of  Massachusetts,  not  a hundred  miles  from  here,  there 
are  persons  to  whom  the  theatre  is  unknown,  but  who 
have  no  objection  to  see  a play  in  a building  which  is 
called  a museum,  especially  if  the  vestibule  leading  to 
the  theatre  should  be  decorated  with  sound  moral  princi- 
ples in  the  shape  of  statues,  pictures,  and  stuffed  objects 
in  glass  casas. 

When  I began  to  think  about  my  subject  for  the  pur- 
pose of  this  address,  I was  rather  staggered  by  its  vast- 
ness, It  is  really  a matter  for  a course  of  lectures  ; but 
as  President  Eliot  has  not  proposed  that  I should  occupy 
a chair  of  dramatic  literature  in  this  University,  and  as 
time  and  opportunity  are  limited,  I can  only  undertake 
to  put  before  you,  in  the  simplest  way,  a few  leading 
ideas  about  dramatic  art  which  may  be  worthy  of  reflec- 
tion. And  in  doing  this  I have  the  great  satisfaction  of 
appearing  in  a model  theatre,  before  a model  audience, 
and  of  being  the  only  actor  in  my  own  play.  Moreover, 
I am  stimulated  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  Greek  drama, 
for  I know  that  on  this  stage  you  have  enacted  a Greek 
play  with  remarkable  success.  So,  after  all,  it  is  not  a 
a body  of  mere  tyros  that  I am  addressing,  but  actors 
who  have  worn  the  sock  and  buskin,  and  declaimed  the 
speeches  v/hich  delighted  audiences  two  thousand  years 
ago. 

Now,  this  address,  like  discourses  in  a more  solemn 
place,  falls  naturally  into  divisions.  I propose  to  speak 
first  of  the  Art  of  Acting  ; secondly,  of  its  Requirements 
and  Practice  ; and  lastly,  of  its  Rewards.  And,  at  the 
outset,  let  me  say  that  I want  you  to  judge  the  stage  at 
its  best.  I do  not  intend  to  suggest  that  only  the  plays 


THE  ART  OF  ACTING. 


5 


of  Shakespeare  are  tolerable  in  the  theatre  to  people  of 
taste  and  intelligence.  The  drama  has  many  forms — 
tragedy,  comedy,  history — pastoral,  pastoral-comical — and 
all  are  good  when  their  aim  is  honestly  artistic. 


II. 


THE  AKT  OF  ACTING. 

Now  what  is  the  art  of  acting  ? I speak  of  it  in  its 
highest  sense,  as  the  art  to  which  Roscius,  Betterton^  and 
Garrick  owed  their  fame.  It  is  the  art  of  embodying  the 
poet’s  creations,  of  giving  them  flesh  and  blood,  of  making 
the  figures  which  appeal  to  your  mind’s  eye  in  the  printed 
drama  live  before  you  on  the  stage.  To  fathom  the 
depths  of  character,  to  trace  its  latent  motives,  to  feel  its 
finest  quiverings  of  emotion,  to  comprehend  the  thoughts 
that  are  hidden  under  words,  and  thus  possess  one’s  self 
of  the  actual  mind  of  the  individual  man” — such  was 
Macready’s  definition  of  the  player’s  art ; and  to  this  we 
may  add  the  testimony  of  Talma.  He  describes  tragic 
acting  as  “ the  union  of  grandeur  without  pomp  and  na- 
ture without  triviality.”  It  demands,  he  says,  the  endow- 
ment of  high  sensibility  and  intelligence. 

The  actor  who  possesses  this  double  gift  adopts  a 
course  of  study  peculiar  to  himself.  In  the  first  place, 
by  repeated  exercises,  he  enters  deeply  into  the  emotions, 
and  his  speech  acquires  the  accent  proper  to  the  situation 
of  the  personage  he  has  to  represent.  This  done,  he  goes 
to  the  theatre  not  only  to  give  theatrical  effect  to  his 
studies,  but  also  to  yield  himself  to  the  spontaneous 
flashes  of  his  sensibility  and  all  the  emotions  which  it 
involuntarily  produces  in  him.  What  does  he  then  do  ? 
In  order  that  his  inspirations  may  not  be  lost,  his  memory, 
in  the  silence  of  repose,  recalls  the  accent  of  his  voice, 
the  expression  of  his  features,  his  action — in  a word,  the 
spontaneous  workings  of  his  mind,  which  he  had  suffered 
to  have  free  course,  and,  in  effect,  everything  which  in 


6 


TIIK  ART  OF  ACTING. 


the  moments  of  his  exaltation  contributed  to  the  effect 
he  had  produced.  His  intelligence  then  passes  all  these 
means  in  review,  connecting  them  and  fixing  them  in  his 
memory  to  re-employ  them  at  pleasure  in  succeeding  re- 
presentations. These  impressions  are  often  so  evanescent 
that  on  retiring  behind  the  scenes  he  must  repeat  to  him.- 
self  what  he  had  been  playing  rather  than  what  he  had  to 
play.  By  this  kind  of  labor  the  intelligence  accumulates 
and  preserves  all  the  creations  of  sensibility.  It  is  by 
this  means  that  at  the  end  of  twenty  years  (it  requires  at 
least  this  length  of  time)  a person  destined  to  display  fine 
talent  may  at  length  present  to  the  public  a series  of 
characters  acted  almost  to  perfection.” 

You  will  readily  understand  from  this  that  to  the  actor 
the  well-worn  maxim  that  art  is  long  and  life  is  short  has 
a constant  significance.  The  older  we  grow  the  more 
acutely  alive  we  are  to  the  difficulties  of  our  craft.  I 
cannot  give  you  a better  illustration  of  this  fact  than  a 
story  which  is  told  of  Macready.  A friend  of  mine, 
once  a dear  friend  of  his,  was  with  him  when  he  played 
Hamlet  for  the  last  time.  The  curtain  had  fallen,  and 
the  great  actor  was  sadly  thinking  that  the  part  he  loved 
so  much  would  never  be  his  again.  And  as  he  took  off 
his  velvet  mantle  and  laid  it  aside,  he  muttered  almost 
unconsciously  the  words  of  Horatio,  Good  night,  sweet 
Prince  then  turning  to  his  friend,  Ah,”  said  he,  ‘‘  I 
am  just  beginning  to  realize  the  sweetness,  the  tender- 
ness, the  gentleness  of  this  dear  Hamlet !”  Believe  me, 
the  true  artist  never  lingers  fondly  upon  what  he  has 
done.  He  is  ever  thinking  of  what  remains  undone  : ever 
striving  toward  an  ideal  it  may  never  be  his  fortune  to 
attain. 

We  are  sometimes  told  that  to  read  the  best  dramatic 
poetry  is  more  educating  than  ta  see  it  acted.  I do  not 
think  this  theory  is  very  widely  held,  for  it  is  in  conflict 
with  the  dramatic  instinct,  which  everybody  possesses  in 
a greater  or  less  degree.  You  never  met  a playwright 
who  could  conceive  himself  willing — even  if  endowed 
with  the  highest  literary  gifts — to  prefer  a reading  to  a 
play-going  public.  He  thinks  his  work  deserving  of  all 
the  rewards  of  print  and  publisher,  but  he  will  be  much 


TJlJi  AKT  OF  ACTIN<;. 


7 


more  elated  if  it  should  appeal  to  the  world  in  the  theatre 
as  a skilful  representation  of  human  passions.  In  one  of 
her  letters  George  Eliot  says  : “In  opposition  to  most 
people  who  love  to  read  Shakespeare,  I like  to  see  his 
plays  acted  better  than  any  others  ; his  great  tragedies 
thrill  me,  let  them  be  acted  how  they  may.”  All  this  is 
so  simple  and  intelligible,  that  it  seems  scarcely  worth 
while  t()  argue  that  in  proportion  to  the  readiness  with 
which  the  reader  of  Shakespeare  imagines  the  attributes 
of  the  various  characters,  and  is  interested  in  their  per- 
sonality, he  will,  as  a rule,  be  eager  to  see  their  tragedy 
or  comedy  in  action.  He  will  then  find  that  very  much 
which  he  could  not  imagine  with  any  definiteness  pre- 
sents new  images  every  moment — the  eloquence  of  look 
and  gesture,  the  inexhaustible  significance  of  the  human 
voice.  There  are  people  (as  I have  said  elsewhere)  who 
fancy  they  have  more  music  in  their  souls  than  was  ever 
translated  into  harmony  by  Beethoven  or  Mozart..  There 
are  others  who  think  they  could  paint  pictures,  write  poet- 
ry— in  short,  do  anything,  if  they  only  made  the  effort. 
To  them  what  is  accomplished  by  the  practiced  actor 
seems  easy  and  simple.  But  as  it  needs  the  skill  of  the 
musician  to  draw  the  full  volume  of  eloquence  from  the 
written  score,  so  it  needs  the  skill  of  the  dramatic  artist 
to  develop  the  subtle  harmonies  of  the  poetic  play.  In 
fact,  to  do  and  not  to  dream^  is  the  mainspring  of  success 
in  life.  The  actor’s  art  is  to  act,  and  the  true  acting  of 
any  character  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  accomplishments. 
I challenge  the  acute  student  to  ponder  over  Hamlet’s 
renunciation  of  Ophelia — one  of  the  most  complex  scenes 
in  all  the  drama — and  say  that  he  has  learned  more  from 
his  meditations  than  he  could  be  taught  by  players  whose 
intelligence  is  equal  to  his  own.  To  present  the  man 
thinking  aloud  is  the  most  difficult  achievement  of  our 
art.  Here  the  actor  who  has  no  real  grip  of  the  character, 
but  simply  recites  the  speeches  with  a certain  grace  and 
intelligence,  will  be  untrue.  The  more  intent  he  is  upon 
the  words,  and  less  on  the  ideas  that  dictated  them,  the 
more  likely  he  is  to  lay  himself  open  to  the  charge  of 
mechanical  interpretation.  It  is  perfectly  possible  to 
express  to  an  audience  all  the  involutions  of  thought,  th^ 


8 


THE  AKT  OF  ACT  ISO. 

speculation,  doubt,  wavering,  which  reveal  the  meditative 
but  irresolute  mind.  As  the  varying  shades  of  fancy  pass 
and  repass  the  mirror  of  the  face,  they  may  yield  more 
material  to  the  studious  play-goer  than  he  is  likely  to  get 
by  a diligent  poring  over  the  text.  In  short,  as  we  un- 
derstand the  people  around  us  much  better  by  personal 
intercourse  than  by  all  the  revelations  of  written  words, 
for  words,  as  Tennyson  says,  half  reveal  and  half  con- 
ceal the  soul  within,”  so  the  drama  has,  on  the  whole,  in- 
finitely more  suggestion  when  it  is  well  acted  than  when 
it  is  interpreted  by  the  unaided  judgment  of  the  student. 
It  has  been  said  that  acting  is  an  unworthy  occupation 
because  it  represents  feigned  emotions,  but  this  censure 
would  apply  with  equal  force  to  poet  or  novelist.  Do  not 
imagine  that  I am  claiming  for  the  actor  sole  and  undi- 
vided authority.  He  should  himself  be  a student,  and  it 
is  his  business  to  put  into  practice  the  best  ideas  he  can 
gather  from  the  genernl  current  of  thought  with  regard 
to  the  highest  dramatic  literature.  But  it  is  he  who  gives 
body  to  those  ideas — fire,  force,  and  sensibility,  without 
which  they  would  remain  for  most  people  mere  airy  ab- 
stractions. 

It  is  often  supposed  that  great  actors  trust  to  the  inspi- 
ration of  the  moment.  Nothing  can  be  more  erroneous. 
There  will,  of  course,  be  such  moments,  when  an  actor 
at  a white  heat  illumines  some  passage  with  a flash  of 
imagination  (and  this  mental  condition,  by  the  way,  is 
impossible  to  the  student  sitting  in  his  arm-chair)  ; but 
the  great  actor’s  surprises  are  generally  well  weighed, 
studied,  and  balanced.  We  know  that  Edmund  Kean 
constantly  practiced  before  a mirror  effects  which  startled 
his  audience  by  their  apparent  spontaneity.  And  it  is 
the  accumulation  of  such  effects  which  enables  an  actor, 
after  many  years,  to  present  many  great  characters  with 
remarkable  completeness. 

I do  not  want  to  overstate  the  case,  or  to  appeal  to 
anything  that  is  not  within  common  experience,  so  I can 
confidently  ask  you  whether  a scene  in  some  great  play 
has  not  been  vividly  impressed  on  your  minds  by  the  de- 
livery of  a single  line,  or  even  of  one  forcible  word. 
Has  not  this  made  the  passage  far  more  real  and  human 


THE  ART  OF  ACTING. 


9 


to  you  than  all  the  thought  you  have  devoted  to  it  ? An 
accomplished  critic  has  said  that  Shakespeare  himself 
might  have  been  surprised  had  he  heard  the  ‘‘Fool, 
fool,  fool  !”  of  Edmund  Kean.  And  though  all  actors 
are  not  Keans,  they  have  in  varying  degree  this  power 
of  making  a dramatic  character  step  out  of  the  page, 
and  come  nearer  to  our  hearts  and  our  understandings. 

After  all,  the  best  and  most  convincing  exposition  of 
the  whole  art  of  acting  is  given  by  Shakespeare  him- 
self : “ To  hold,  as  t’were,  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  to 
show  virtue  her  own  feature,  scorn  her  own  image,  and 
the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time  his  form  and  press- 
ure.” Thus  the  poet  recognized  the  actor’s  art  as  a 
most  potent  ally  in  the  representation  of  human  life. 
He  believed  that  to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature  was 
one  of  the  worthiest  functions  in  the  sphere  of  labor, 
and  actors  are  content  to  point  to  his  definition  of  their 
work  as  the  charter  of  their  privileges. 


III. 

PRACTICE  OF  THE  ART. 


The  practice  of  the  art  of  acting  is  a subject  difficult 
to  treat  with  the  necessary  brevity.  Beginners  are  natu- 
rally anxious  to  know  what  course  they  should  pursue.  In 
common  with  other  actors,  I receive  letters  from  young 
people,  many  of  whom  are  very  earnest  in  their  ambition 
to  adopt  the  dramatic  culting,  but  not  sufficiently  alive 
to  the  fact  that  success  does  not  depend  on  a few  les- 
sons in  declamation.  When  I was  a boy  I had  the  habit 
which  I think  would  be  useful  to  all  young  students. 
Before  going  to  see  a play  of  Shakespeare’s  I use  to  form, 
in  a very  juvenile  way,  a theory  as  to  the  working  out  of 
the  whole  drama,  so  as  to  correct  my  conceptions  by  those 
of  the  actors  ; and  though  I was,  as  a rule,  absurdly 
wrong,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  any  method  of  inde- 
pendent study  is  of  enormous  importance,  not  only  to 
youngsters,  but  also  to  students  of  a larger  growth. 


10 


IHE  ART  OF  A(TIX(;. 


Without  it  the  mind  is  apt  to  take  its  stamp  fronj 
the  first  forcible  impression  it  receives,  and  to  fall  into 
a servile  dependence  upon  traditions,  which,  robbed  of 
the  spirit  that  created  them,  are  apt  to  be  purely  mis- 
chievous. What  was  natural  to  the  creator  is  often  un- 
natural and  lifeless  in  the  imitator.  No  two  people  form 
the  same  conceptions  of  character,  and  therefore  it  is 
always  advantageous  to  see  an  independent  and  coura- 
geous exposition  of  an  original  idea.  There  can  be  nc- 
ob  jection  to  the  kind  of  training  that  imparts  a knowledge 
of  manners  and  customs  ; and  the  teaching  which  per- 
tains to  simple  deportment  on  the  stage  is  necessary  am  I 
most  useful  ; but  you  cannot  possibly  be  taught  any  tra- 
dition of  character,  for  that  has  no  permanence.  Nothing 
is  more  fleeting  than  any  traditional  method  of  imperso- 
nation. You  may  learn  where  a particular  personage 
used  to  stand  on  the  stage,  or  down  which  trap  the  ghost 
of  Hamlet’s  father  vanished  ; but  the  soul  of  interpre- 
tation is  lost,  and  it  is  this  soul  which  the  actor  has^ 
to  re-create  for  himself.  It  is  not  mere  attitude  or  tone 
that  has  to  be  studied  ; you  must  be  moved  by  the  im- 
pulse of  being  ; you  must  impersonate  and  not  recite.. 

There  has  always  been  a controversy  as  , to  the  province 
of  naturalism  in  dramatic  art.  In  England  it  has  been 
too  much  the  custom,  I believe,  while  demanding  natural- 
ly in  comedy,  to  expect  a false  inflation  in  tragedy. 
But  there  is  no  reason  why  an  actor  should  be  less  natural 
in  tragic  than  in  lighter  moods.  Passions  vary  in  expres- 
sion according  to  moulds  of  character  and  manners,  but 
their  reality  should  not  be  lost  even  when  they  are  ex- 
pressed in  the  heroic  forms  of  the  drama.  A very  sim- 
ple test  is  a reference  to  the  records  of  old  actors.. 
What  was  it  in  their  performances  that  chiefly  impres- 
sed their  contemporaries  r Very  rarely  the  measured 
recitation  of  this  or  that  speech,  but  very  often  a simple 
exclamation  that  deeply  moved  their  auditors,  because  it 
Avas  a gleam  of  nature  in  the  midst  of  declamation. 
The  ftithee,  undo  this  button  !”  of  Garrick,  was  re- 
membered when  many  stately  utterances  were  forgot- 
ten In  our  day  the  contrast  between  artificial  decla- 
mation and  the  accents  of  nature  is  less  marked,  because 


/ 


THE  Airi'  OF  ACTING. 


11 


its  delivery  is  more  uniformly  simple,  and  an  actor  who 
lapses  from  a natural  into  a false  tone  is  sure  to  find 
that  his  hold  upon  his  audience  is  proportionately  weak- 
ened. But  the  revolution  which  Garrick  accomplished 
may  be  imagined  from  the  story  told  by  Boswell.  Dr. 
Johnson  was  discussing  plays  and  players  with  Mrs. 
Siddons,  and  he  said  : “Garrick,  madam,  was  no  declaim- 
er  ; there  was  not  one  of  his  own  scene-shifters  who  could 
not  have  spc'jken  ‘To  be  or  not  to  be’  better  than  he  did  ; 
vet  he  was  the  only  actor  I ever  saw  whom  I could  call 
.a  master,  both  in  tragedy  and  comedy  ; though  I liked 
him  best  in  comedy.  A true  conception  of  character 
and  natural  expression  of  it  were  his  distinguished 
excellences.” 

To  be  natural  on  the  stage  is  most  difficult,  and  yet  a 
grain  of  nature  is  worth  a bushel  of  artifice.  But  you 
may  say — what  is  nature  ? I quoted  just  now  Shakes- 
peare’s definition  of  the  actor’s  art.  After  the  exhorta- 
tion to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  he  adds  the  preg- 
nant warning  : “ This  overdone  or  come  tardy  off,  though 
it  make  the  unskilful  laugh,  cannot  but  make  the  ju- 
dicious grieve,  the  censure  of  which  one  must  in  your 
allowance  o’erweigh  a whole  theatre  of  others.”  Nature 
may  be  overdone  by  triviality  in  conditions  that  demand 
exaltation  ; for  instance,  Hamlet’s  first  address  to  the 
Ghost  lifts  its  disposition  to  an  altitude  far  beyond  the 
ordinary  reaches  of  our  souls,  and  his  manner  of  speech 
should  be  adapted  to  this  sentiment.  But  such  exalta- 
tion of  utterance  is  wholly  out  of  place  in  the  purely  col- 
loquial scene  with  the  Grave-digger.  When  Macbeth 
says,  “ Go,  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is  ready,  she 
strike  upon  the  bell,”  he  would  not  use  the  tone  of  : 

“Pity  like  a naked  new-born  babe, 

Striding  the  blast,  or  Heaven’s  cherubim,  horsed 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air, 

Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye. 

That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind.” 

Like  the  practiced  orator,  the  actor  rises  and  descends 
with  his  sentiment,  and  cannot  always  be  in  a fine  frenzy. 
This  variety  is  especially  necessary  in  Shakespeare,  whose 
work  is  essentially  different  from  the  classic  drama,  be- 


u.  OF  ILL  UB. 


12 


TlALi  ART  OF  Acl'lxNG. 


cause  it  presents  every  mood  of  mind  and  and  form  of 
speech,  commonplace  or  exalted,  as  character  and  situation 
dictate  ; whereas  in  such  a play  as  Addison’s  Cato  every- 
body is  consistently  eloquent  about  everything. 

There  are  many  causes  for  the  growth  of  naturalism 
in  dramatic  art,  and  amongst  them  we  should  remember 
the  improvement  in  the  mechanism  of  the  stage.  For 
instance,  there  has  been  a remarkable  development  in 
stage  lighting.  In  old  pictures  you  will  observe  the 
actors  constantly  standing  in  a line,  because  the  oil 
lamps  of  those  days  gave  such  an  indifferent  illumina- 
tion that  everybody  tried  to  get  into  what  was  called  the 
focus — the  ‘‘blaze  of  publicity”  furnished  by  the  “float” 
or  footlights.  The  importance  of  this  is  illustrated  by  an 
amusing  story  of  Edmund  Kean,  who  one  night  played 
Othello  with  more  than  his  usual  intensity.  An  ad- 
mirer who  met  him  in  the  street  next  day  was  loud  in  his 
congratulations  : “ I really  thought  you  would  have 
choked  lago,  Mr.  Kean — you  seemed  so  tremendously 
in  earnest.”  “ In  earnest !”  said  the  tragedian,  “ I should 
think  so  ! Hang  the  fellow,  he  was  trying  to  keep  me 
out  of  the  focus.” 

I do  not  recommend  actors  to  allow  their  feelings 
to  carry  them  away  like  this  ; but  it  is  necessary  to 
warn  you  against  the  theory,  expounded  with  brilliant 
ingenuity  by  Diderot,  that  the  actor  never  feels.  When 
Macready  played  Virginius,  after  burying  his  beloved 
daughter,  he  confessed  that  his  real  experience  gave  a 
new  force  to  his  acting  in  the  most  pathetic  situations  of 
the  play.  Are  we  to  suppose  that  this  was  a delusion  or 
that  the  sensibility  of  the  man  was  a genuine  aid  to  the 
actor  ? Bannister  said  of  John  Kemble  that  he  w’a.s  never 
pathetic  because  he  had  no  children.  Talma  says  that 
when  deeply  moved  he  found  himself  making  a rapid  and 
fugitive  observation  on  the  alteration  of  his  voice,  and  on 
a certain  spasmodic  vibration  it  contracted  in  tears.  Has 
not  the  actor  who  can  thus  make  his  feelings  a part  of  his 
art  an  advantage  over  the  actor  who  never  feels,  but 
makes  his  observations  solely  from  the  feelings  of  others  ? 
It  is  necessary  to  this  art  that  the  mind  should  have,  as 
it  were,  a double  consciousness,  in  which  all  the  emotions. 


rilE  ART  OF  ACTING. 


13 


proper  to  the  occasion  may  have  full  swing,  while  the 
actor  is  all  the  time  on  the  alert  for  every  detail  of  his 
rn^thod.  It  may  be  that  his  playing  will  be  more  spirit- 
ed one  night  than  another.  But  the  actor  who  combines 
the  elective  force  of  a strong  personality  with  a mastery 
of  the  resources  of  his  art,  must  have  a greater  power 
over  his  audiencies  than  the  passionless  actor  who  gives 
a most  artistic  simulation  of  the  emotions  he  never  ex- 
periences. 

Now,  in  the  practice  of  acting,  a most  important  point 
is  the  study  of  elocution  ; and  in  elocution  one  great  dif- 
ficulty is  the  use  of  sufficient  force  to  be  generally  heard 
without  being  unnaturally  loud,  and  without  acquiring  a 
stilted  delivery.  The  advice  of  the  old  actors  was  that 
you  should  always  pitch  your  voice  so  as  to  be  heard  by 
the  back  row  of  the  gallery — no  easy  task  to  accomplish 
without  offending  the  ears  of  the  front  row  of  the  orches- 
tra. And  I should  tell  you  that  this  exaggeration  applies 
to  everything  on  the  stage.  To^a|)p.ear  to  be  natural,  you 
must  in  reality  be  much  broader  than  natural.  Tp_,act_ 
on  the  stage  as  one  really  would  in  a room  would  be  in- 
effective and  colorless.  I never  knew  an  actor  who 
brought  the  art  of  elocution  to  greater  perfection  than  the 
late  Charles  Matthews,  whose  utterance  on  the  stage  was 
so  natural  that  one  was  surprised  to  find  when  near  him 
that  he  was  really  speaking  in  a very  loud  key.  There  is 
a great  actor  in  your  own  country  to  whose  elocution  one 
always  listens  with  the  utmost  enjoyment — I mean  Ed- 
win Booth.  He  has  inherited  this  gift,  I believe,  from 
his  famous  father,  of  whom  I have  heard  it  said,  that  he 
always  insisted  on  a thorough  use  of  the  instruments”-- 
by  which  he  meant  the  teeth — in  the  formation  of  words. 

An  imperfect  elocution  is  apt  to  degenerate  into  a mo- 
notonous uniformity  of  tone.  Some  wholesome  advice  on 
this  point  we  find  in  the  L^fe  of  Setterton, 

‘‘  This  stiff  uniformity  of  voice  is  not  only  displeasing 
to  the  ear,  but  disappoints  the  effect  of  the  discourse  on 
the  hearers  ; first,  by  an  equal  way  of  speaking,  when  the 
pronunciation  has  everywhere,  in  every  word  and  every 
syllable  the  same  sound,  it  must  inevitably  render  all 
parts  of  speech  equal,  and  so  put  them  on  a very  unjust 


14 


THE  ART  OF  ACTINO. 


level.  So  that  the  power  of  the  reasoning  part,  the  lustre 
and  ornaments  of  the  figures,  the  heart,  warmth  and  vigor 
of  the  passionate  part  being  expressed  all  in  the  same 
tone,  is  flat  and  insipid,  and  lost  in  a supine,  or  at  least 
unmusical  pronounciation.  So  that,  in  short,  that  which 
ought  to  strike  and  stir  up  the  affections,  because  it  is 
spoken  all  alike,  without  any  distinction  or  variety,  moves 
them  not  at  all.” 

Now,  on  the  question  of  pronunciation  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  said,  which,  I think,  in  ordinary  teaching  is 
not  sufficiently  considered.  Pronunciation  on  the  stage 
should  be  simple  and  unaffected,  but  not  alw^ays  fashioned 
rigidly  according  to  a dictionary_standard.  No  less  an 
authority  than  Cicero  points  out  that  pronunciation  must 
vary  widely  according  to  the  emotions  to  be  expressed  ; 
that  it  may  be  broken  or  cut,  with  a varying  or  direct 
sound,  and  that  it  serves  for  the  actor  the  purpose  of  color 
to  the  painter,  from  which  to  draw  his  variations.  Take 
the  simplest  illustration — The  formal  pronunciation  of 
“ A-h  ” is  ‘‘  Ah,”  of  “ 0-h  ” is  “ Oh  ;”  but  you  cannot 
stereotype  the  expression  of  emotion  like  this.  These 
exclamations  are  words  of  one  syllable,  but  the  speaker 
who  is  sounding  the  gamut  of  human  feeling  will  not  be 
restricted  in  his  pronunciation  by  the  dictionary  rule.  It 
is  said  of  Edmund  Kean  that  he  never  spoke  such  ejacu- 
lations, but  always  sighed  or  groaned  them.  Fancy  an 
actor  saying,  ‘‘  My  Desdemona  ! Oh,  oh,  oh  !”  Words 
are  intended  to  express  feelings  and  ideas,  not  to  bind 
them  in  rigid  fetters  ; the  accents  of  pleasure  are  different 
from  the  accents  of  pain,  and  if  a feeling  is  more  accu- 
rately expressed,  as  in  nature,  by  a variation  of  sound  not 
provided  for  by  the  laws  of  pronunciation,  then  such  im- 
perfect laws  must  be  disregarded  and  nature  vindicated. 
The  word  should  be  the  echo  of  the  sense. 

The  force  of  an  actor  depends,  of  course,  upon  his 
physique  ; and  it  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  a good  deal 
of  attention  should  be  given  to  bodily  training.  Every- 
thing that  develops  suppleness,  elasticity,  and  grace — 
that  most  subtle  charm — should  be  carefully  cultivated, 
and  in  this  regard  your  admirable  gymnasium  is  worth 
volumes  of  advice.  Sometimes  there  is  a tendency  to 


THE  AUT  OE  A('TIN(i. 


15 


train  the  body  at  the  expense  of  the  mind,  and  the  young 
actor  with  striking  physical  advantages  must  beware  of 
regarding  this  fortunate  endowment  as  his  entire  stock 
in  trade.  That  way  folly  lies,  and  the  result  may  be  too 
dearly  purchased  by  the  fame  of  a photograper’s  window. 
It  is  clear  that  the  physique  of  actors  must  vary  ; there 
can  be  no  military  standard  of  proportions  on  the  stage. 
Some  great  actors  have  had  to  struggle  against  physical 
disabilities  of  a serious  nature.  Betterton  had  an  unpre- 
possessing face  ; so  had  Le  Kain.  John  Kemble  was 
troubled  with  a weak,  asthmetic  voice,  and  yet  by  his 
dignity,  and  the  force  of  his  personality,  he  was  able  to 
achieve  the  greatest  effects.  In  some  cases  a superabund- 
ant physique  has  incapacitated  actors  from  playing  many 
parts.  The  combination  in  one  frame  of  all  the  gifts  of 
mind  and  all  the  advantages  of  person  is  very  rare  on 
the  stage  ; but  talent  will  conquer  many  natural  defects 
when  it  is  sustained  by  energy  and  perseverance. 

-^WlLh  reg^ard  to  gesture,  Shakespeare’s  advice  is  all-em- 
bracing, Suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the 
action,  with  this  special  observance  that  you  over-step  not 
the  modesty  of  nature.  And  here  comes  the  considera- 
tion of  a very  material  part  of  the  actor’s  business — by- 
play. This  is  of  the  very  essence  of  true  art.  It  is  more 
than  anything  else  significant  of  the  extent  to  which  the 
actor  has  identified  himself  with  the  character  he  repre- 
sents. Recall  the  scenes  between  lago  and  Othello,  and 
consider  how  the  whole  interest  of  the  situation  depends 
on  the  skill  with  which  the  gradual  effect  of  the  poisonous 
suspicion  instilled  into  the  Moor’s  mind  is  depicted  in 
look  and  tone,  slight  of  themselves,  but  all  contributing' 
to  the  intensity  of  the  situation.  One  of  the  greatest 
tests  of  an  actor  is  his  capacity  for  listening.  By-play 
must  be  unobtrusive  ; the  student  should  remember  that 
the  most  minute  expression  attracts  attention  ; that 
nothing  is  lost,  that  by- play  is.  as  mischievous  when  it 
is  injudicious  as  it  is  effective  when  rightly  conceived, 
and  that  while  trifles  make  perfection,  perfection  is  no 
trifle.  This  lesson  was  enjoined  on  me  when  I was  a 
very  young  man  by  that  remarkable  actress,  Charlotte 
Cushman.  I remember  that  when  she  played  Meg 


10 


TIIK  ART  OF  ACTING. 


Merrilies  I was  cast  for  Henry  Bertram,  on  the  princi- 
ple, seemingly,  that  an  actor  with  no  singing  voice  is 
admirably  fitted  for  a singing  part.  It  was  my  duty 
to  give  Meg- Merrilies  a piece  of  money,  and  I did  it 
after  the  traditional  fashion  by  handing  her  a large 
purse  full  of  coin  of  the  realm,  in  the  shape  of  broken 
crockery,  which  was  generally  used  in  financial  trans- 
actions on  the  stage,  because  when  the  virtuous  maiden 
rejected  with  scorn  the  advances  of  the  lordly  libertine, 
and  threw  his  pernicious  bribe  upon  the  ground,  the 
clatter  of  the  broken  crockery  suggested  fabulous  wealth. 
But  after  the  play,  Miss  Cushman,  in  the  course  of  some 
kindly  advice,  said  so  me  : Instead  of  giving  me  that 
purse,  don’t  you  think  it  would  have  been  much  more 
natural  if  you  had  taken  a number  of  coins  from  your 
pocket,  and  given  me  the  smallest  ? That  is  the  way 
one  gives  alms  to  a beggar,  and  it  would  have  added 
greatly  to  the  realism  of  the  scene.”  I have  never  for- 
gotten that  lesson,  for  simple  as  it  was,  it  contained 
many  elements  of  dramatic  truth.  It  is  most  important 
' hat  an  actor  should  learn  that  he  is  a figure  in  a pic- 
: ure,  and  that  the  least  exaggeration  destroys  the  har- 
liony  of  the  composition.  ^1  the  members  of  the 
^■ornpany  should  work  towards  a common  end,  with 
lie  nicest  subordination  of  their  individuality  to  the 
^•■^nerai  purpose.  Without  this  method  a play  when  act- 
i is  at  best  a disjointed  and  incoherent  piece  of  work, 
n stead  of  being  a harmonious  whole  like  the  fine  per- 
•rmance  of  an  orchestral  symphony. 

The  root  of  the  matter  is  that  the  actor  must  before  all 
kings  form  a definite  conception  of  what  he  wishes  to 
‘onvey.  It  is  better  to  be  wrong  and  be  consistent,  than 
to  be  right,  yet  hesitating  and  uncertain.  This  is  why 
great  actors  are  sometimes  very  bad  or  very  good.  They 
will  do  the  wrong  thing  with  a courage  and  thoroughness 
which  makes  the  error  all  the  more  striking  ; although 
when  they  are  right  they  may  often  be  superb.  It  is 
necessary  that  the  actor  should  learn  to  think  before  he 
speaks  ; a practice  which,  I believe,  is  very  useful  off  the 
stage.  Let  him  remember,  first,  that  every  sentence  ex- 


THE  AIIT  OF  ACTING. 


17 


presses  a new  thought,  and,  therefore,  frequently  demands 
a change  of  intonation  ; secondly,  that  the  thought  pre- 
ced^  tte  word.  Of  course,  there  are  passages  in  which 
thought  and  language  are  borne  along  by  the  streams  of 
emotion  and  completely  intermingled.  But  more  often 
it  will  be  found  that  the  most  natural,  the  most  seeming- 
ly accidental  effects  are  obtained  when  the  working  of 
the  mind  is  seen  before  the  tongue  gives  its  words. 

You  will  see  that  the  limits  of  an  actor’s  studies  are 
very  wide.  To  master  the  technicalities  of  his  craft,  to 
familiarize  his  mind  with  the  structure,  rhythm,  and  the 
soul  of  poetry,  to  be  constantly  cultivating  his  percep- 
tions of  life  around  him  and  of  all  the  arts — painting, 
music,  sculpture — for  the  actor  who  is  devoted  to  his  pro- 
fession is  susceptible  to  every  harmony  of  color,  form, 
and  sound — to  do  ail  this  is  to  labor  in  a very  large  field 
of  industry.  But  all  your  training,  bodily  and  mental,  is 
subservient  to  the  two  great  principles  in  tragedy  and 
comedy — passion  and  geniality.  Geniality  in  comedy  is 
one  of  the  rarest  gifts.  Think  of  the  rich  unction  of  Fal- 
staff,  the  mercurial  fancy  of  Mercutio,  the  witty  vivacity^ 
and  manly  humor  of  Benedick — think  of  the  qualities, 
natural  and  acquired,  that  are  needed  for  the  complete 
portrayal  of  such  characters,  and  you  will  understand 
how  difficult  it  is  for  a comedian  to  rise  to  such  a sphere. 
In  tragedy,  passion,  or  intensity  sweeps  all  before  it,  and 
when  I say  passion,  I mean  the  passion  of  pathos  as  well 
as  wrath  or  revenge.  These  are  the  supreme  elements  of 
the  actor’s  art,  which  cannot  be  taught  by  any  system, 
however  just,  and  to  which  all  education  is  but  tributary. 

Now,  all  that  can  be  said  of  the  netjessity ‘of  a close 
regard  for  nature  in  acting  applies  with  e^ual  or  greater 
force  to  the  presentation  of  plays.  You  want,  above  all 
things,  to  have  a truthful  picture  which  shall  appeal  to 
the  eye  without  distracting  the  imagination  from  the  pur- 
pose of  the  drama.  It  is  a mistake  to  suppose  that  this 
enterprise  is  comparatively  new  to  the  stage.  Since 
Shakespeare’s  time  there  has  been  a steady  progress  in 
this  direction.  Even  in  the  poet’s  day  every  conceivable 
property  was  forced  into  requisition,  and  his  own  sense 


18 


THE  AUT  OF  ACTING. 


ol*  shortcGmings  in  this  respect  is  shown  in  Henry  V, 
when  he  exclaims  : 

“Where — O for  pity! — we  shall  much  disgrace 
AYith  four  or  five  most  vile  aud  ragged  foils 
The  name  of  Agincourt.” 

There  have  always  been  critics  who  regarded  care  and 
elaboration  in  the  mounting  of  plays  as  destructive  of 
the  real  spirit  of  the  actor’s  art.  Betterton  had  to  meet 
this  reproach  when  he  introduced  scenery  in  lieu  of  lin- 
sey  wool  curtains  ; but  he  replied,  sensibly  enough,  that 
his  scenery  was  better  than  the  tapestry  with  hidecus 
figures  worked  upon  it  which  had  so  long  distracted  the 
senses  of  play-goers.  He  might  have  asked  his  critics 
whether  they  wished  to  see  Ophelia  played  by  a boy  of 
sixteen,  as  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  instead  of  a beau- 
tiful and  gifted  woman.  Garrick  did  his  utmost  to  im- 
prove the  mechanical  arts  of  the  stage — so  much  so,  in- 
deed, that  he  paid  bis  scene  painter,  Louthenbourg,  500/.  a 
year,  a pretty  considerable  sum  in  those  days — though  in 
Garrick’s  time  the  importance  of  realism  in  costume  was 
not  sufficiently  appreciated  to  prevent  him  from  playing 
Macbeth  in  a bag-v/ig.  To-day  we  are  employing  all  our 
resources  to  heighten  the  picturesque  efi'ects  of  the  drama, 
and  we  are  still  told  that  this  is  a gross  error.  It  may 
be  admitted  that  nothing  is  more  objectionable  than  cer- 
tain kinds  of  realism,  which  are  simply  vulgar  ; but  har- 
mony of  color  and  grace  of  outline  have  a legitimate 
sphere  in  the  theatre,  and  the  method  which  uses  them 
as  adjuncts  may  claim  to  be  “ as  wholesome  as  sweet,  and 
by  very  much  more  handsome  than  fine.”  For  the  abuse 
of  scenic  decoration,  the  overloading  of  the  stage  with 
ornament,  the  subordination  of  the  play  to  a pageant,  I 
have  nothing  to  say.  That  is  all  foreign  to  the  artistic 
purpose  which  should  dominate  dramatic  work.  Nor  do 
I think  that  servility  to  archmology  on  the  stage  is  an  un- 
mixed good.  Correctness  of  costume  is  admirable  and 
necessary  up  to  a certain  point,  but  when  it  ceases  to  be 
‘‘  as  wholesome  as  sweet,”  it  should,  I think,  be  sacrificed. 
You  perceive  that  the  nicest  discretion  is  needed  in  the 
use  of  the  materials  which  are  nowadays  at  the  disposal 
of  the  manager.  Music,  painting,  architecture,  the  end- 


THE  Airr  OF  ACTING. 


19 


less  variations  of  costume,  have  all  to  be  employed  with 
a strict  regard  to  the  production  of  an  artistic  whole,  in 
which  no  element  shall  be  unduly  obtrusive.  We  are 
open  to  microscopic  criticism  at  every  point.  When 
Much  Ado  About  Nothing  was  produced  at  the  Ly- 
ceum, I received  a letter  complaining  of  the  gross  viola- 
tion of  accuracy  in  a scene  which  was  called  a cedar- 
w^alk.  ‘‘  Cedars  !”  said  my  correspondent — why,  cedars 
were  not  introduced  into  Messina  for  fifty  years  after  the 
date  of  Shakespeare’s  story  !”  Well,  this  was  a tremen- 
dous indictment,  but  unfortunately  the  cedar- walk  had 
been  painted.  Absolute  realism  on  the  stage  is  not  al- 
ways desirable,  any  more  than  the  photographic  repro- 
duction of  nature  can  claim  to  rank  with  the  highest  art. 


TV. 

THE  REWARDS  OF  THE  ART. 

To  what  position  in  the  world  of  intelligence  does  the 
actor’s  art  entitle  him,  and  what  is  his  contribution  to 
the  general  sum  of  instruction  ? We  are  often  told  that 
the  art  is  ephemeral  : that  it  creates  nothing,  that  when 
the  actor’s  personality  is  withdrawn  from  the  public  eye, 
he  leaves  no  trace  behind.  Granted  that  his  art  creates 
nothing  ; but  does  it  not  often  restore  ? It  is  true  that 
he  leaves  nothing  like  the  canvas  of  the  painter  and  the 
marble  of  the  sculptor,  but  has  he  done  naught  to  increase 
the  general  stock  of  ideas  ? The  astronomer  and  natu- 
ralist create  nothing,  but  they  contribute  much  to  the  en- 
lightenment of  the  world.  I am  taking  the  highest  stand- 
ard of  my  art,  for  I maintain  that  in  judging  any  calling 
you  should  consider  its  noblest  and  not  its  most  ignoble 
products.  All  the  work  that  is  done  on  the  stage  cannot 
stand  upon  the  same  level,  any  more  than  all  the  work 
that  is  done  in  literature.  You  do  not  demand  that  your 
poets  and  novelists  shall  all  be  of  the  same  calibre.  An 
immense  amount  of  good  writing  does  no  more  than  in- 
crease the  gaiety  of  mankind  ; but  when  Johnson  said 


20 


Til  10  AKT  OT  AC'J'IN(i. 


that  the  gaiety  of  nations  was  eclipsed  by  the  death  of 
Garrick,  he  did  not  mean  that  a mere  barren  amusement 
had  lost  one  of  its  professors.  When  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
painted  Mrs.  Siddons  as  the  Tragic  Muse^  and  said  he 
had  achieved  immortality  by  putting  his  name  on  the  hem 
of  her  garment,  he  meant  something  more  than  a pretty 
compliment,  for  her  name  can  never  die.  To  give  genu- 
ine and  wholesome  entertainment  is  a very  large  function 
of  the  stage,  and  without  that  entertainment  very  many 
lives  would  lose  a stimulus  of  the  highest  value.  If  rec- 
reation of  every  legitimate  kind  is  invaluable  to  the 
worker,  especially  so  is  the  recreation  of  the  drama,  which 
brightens  his  faculties,  enlarges  his  vision  of  the  pictur- 
esque, and  by  taking  him  for  a time  out  of  this  work-a- 
day  world,  braces  his  sensibilities  for  the  labors  of  life. 
The  art  which  does  this  may  surely  claim  to  exercise  more 
than  a fleeting  influence  upon  the  world’s  intelligence. 
But  in  its  highest  developments  it  does  more  ; it  acts  as 
a constant  medium  for  the  diffusion  of  great  ideas,  and 
by  throwing  new  lights  upon  the  best  dramatic  literature, 
it  largely  helps  the  growth  of  education.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  the  interpreters  of  Shakespeare  on  the 
stage  have  had  much  to  do  with  the  widespread  appreci- 
ation of  his  works.  Some  of  the  most  thoughtful  students 
of  the  poet  have  recognized  their  indebtedness  to  actors, 
while  for  multitudes  the  stage  has  performed  the  office  of 
discovery.  Thousands  who  flock  to-day  to  see  a repre- 
sentation of  Shakespeare,  which  is  the  product  of  much 
reverent  study  of  the  poet,  are  not  content  to  regard  it 
as  a mere  scenic  exhibition.  Without  it  Shakespeare 
might  have  been  for  many  of  them  a sealed  book  ; but 
many  more  have  been  impelled  by  the  vivid  realism  of 
the  stage  to  renew  studies  which  other  occupations  or 
lack  of  leisure  have  arrested.  Am  I presumptuous,  then, 
in  asserting  that  the  stage  is  not  only  an  instrument  of 
amusement,  but  a very  active  agent  in  the  spread  of 
knowledge  and  taste  ? Some  forms  of  stage  work,  you 
may  say,  are  not  particularly  elevating.  True  ; and  there 
are  countless  fictions  coming  daily  from  the  hands  of 
printer  and  publisher  which  nobody  is  the  better  for 
reading.  You  cannot  have  a fixed  standard  of  value  in 


THE  ART  OF  ACTING. 


21 


m\j  art  ; and  though  there  are  masses  of  people  who  will 
prefer  an  unintelligent  exhibition  to  a really  artistic  pro- 
duction, that  is  no  reason  for  decrying  tie  theatre,  in 
which  all  the  arts  blend  with  the  knowledge  of  history, 
manners,  and  customs  of  all  people,  and  scenes  of  all 
climes,  to  afford  a varied  entertainment  to  the  most  ex- 
acting intellect.  I have  no  sympathy  with  people  who 
are  constantly  anxious  to  define  the  actor’s  position,  for, 
as  a rule,  they  are  not  animated  by  a desire  to  promote 
his  interests.  ’Ti:  in  ourselves  that  we  are  thus  and 
thus  and  whatever  actors  deserve,  socially  or  artistical- 
ly, they  are  sure  to  receive  as  their  right.  I found  the 
other  dgiy  in  a well  circulated  little  volume  a suggestion 
that  the  actor  was  a degraded  being  because  he  has  a 
closely  shaven  face.  This  is,  indeed,  humiliating,  and  I 
wonder  how  it  strikes  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy.  How- 
ever, there  are  actors  who  do  not  shave  closely,  and  though, 
alas  ! 1 am  not  one  of  them,  I wish  them  joy  of  the  spirit- 
ual grace  which  I cannot  claim. 

It  is  admittedly  unfortunate  for  the  stage  that  it  has  a 
certain  equivocal  element,  which,  in  the  eyes  of  some 
judges,  is  sufficient  for  its  condemnation.  The  art  is 
open  to  all,  and  it  has  to  bear  the  sins  of  many.  You 
may  open  your  newspaper,  and  see  a paragraph  headed, 
‘‘  Assault  by  an  Actress.”  Some  poor  creature  is  dignified 
by  that  title  who  has  not  the  slightest  claim  to  it.  You 
look  into  a shop  window,  and  see  photographs  of  certain 
people  who  are  indiscriminately  described  as  actors  and 
actresses,  though  their  business  has  no  pretense  to  be  art 
of  any  kind. 

I was  told  in  Baltimore  of  a man  in  that  city  who  was  so 
diverted  by  the  performance  of  Tyrone  Power,  the  popu- 
lar Irish  comedian,  that  he  laughed  uproariously  till  the 
audience  was  convulsed  with  merriment  at  the  spectacle. 
As  soon  as  he  could  speak,  he  called  out,  ‘‘  Do  be  quiet, 
Mr.  Showman  ; do  hold  your  tongue,  or  I shall  die  of 
laughter  !”  This  idea  that  the  actor  is  a showman  still 
lingers  ; but  no  one  with  any  real  appreciation  of  the 
best  elements  of  the  drama  applies  this  vulgar  standard 
to  a great  body  of  artists.  The  fierce  light  of  publicity 
that  beats  upon  us  makes  us  liable,  from  tim  e to  time,  to 


22 


THE  AP.T  OF  A(nTN(E 


dissertations  upon  our  public  and  private  lives,  our  man- 
ners, our  morals,  and  our  money.  Our  whims  and  caprices 
are  descanted  on  with  apparent  earnestness  of  truth,  and 
seeming  sincerity  of  conviction.  There  is  always  some 
lively  controversy  concerning  the  influence  of  the  stage. 
The  battle  between  old  methods  and  new  in  art  is  waged 
everywhere.  If  an  actor  were  to  take  to  heart  everything 
that  is  written  and  said  about  him,  his  life  would  be  an 
intolerable  burden.  And  one  piece  of  advice  I should 
give  to  young  actors  is  this  : “ Don’t  be  too  sensitive  ; 
receive  praise  or  censure  with  modesty  and  patience. 
Good,  honest  criticism,  is,  of  coure,  most  advantageous  to 
an  actor,  but  he  should  save  himself  from  the  indiscrimi- 
nate reading  of  a multitude  of  comments,  which  may  only 
confuse  instead  of  stimulating.  And  here  let  me  say  to 
young  actors  in  all  earnestness  : Beware  of  the  loungers 
of  our  calling,  the  camp  follo^vers  who  hang  on  the  skirts 
of  the  army,  and  who  inveigle  the  young  into  habits  that 
degrade  their  character  and  paralize  their  ambition.  Let 
your  ambition  be  ever  precious  to  you,  and,  next  to  your 
good  name,  the  jewel  of  your  souls.  I care  nothing  for 
the  actor  who  is  not  always  anxious  to  rise  to  the  high- 
est position  in  his  particular  walk  ; but  this  ideal  cannot 
be  cherished  by  the  young  man  who  is  induced  to  fritter 
away  his  time  and  money  in  thoughtless  company. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  turmoil  about  the  stage,  one 
fact  stands  out  clearly  : the  dramatic  art  is  steadily  grow- 
ing in  credit  with  the  educated  classes.  It  is  drawing 
more  recruits  from  those  classes.  The  enthusiasm  for 
our  calling  has  never  reached  a higher  pitch.  There  is 
quite  an  extraordinary  number  of  ladies  who  want  to  be- 
come actresses,  and  the  cardinal  difficulty  in  the  way  is 
not  the  social  deterioration  which  some  people  think  they 
would  incur,  but  simply  their  inability  to  act.  Men  of 
education  who  become  actors  do  not  find  that  their  edu- 
cation is  useless.  If  they  have  the  necessary  aptitude, 
the  inborn  instinct  for  the  stage,  all  their  mental  training 
will  be  of  great  value  to  them.  It  is  true  that  there  must 
always  be  grades  in  the  theatre  ; that  an  educated  man 
who  is  an  indifferent  actor  can  never  expect  to  reach  the 
front  rank.  If  he  do  no  more  than  figure  in  the  army 


THE  AKT  OF  xV('TING. 


23 


at  Bosworth  Field,  or  look  imposing  in  a door- way  ; if 
be  never  play  any  but  the  smallest  parts  ; if  in  these  re- 
spects he  be  no  better  than  men  who  could  not  pass  an 
examination  in  any  branch  of  knowledge — he  has  no  more 
reason  to  complain  than  the  highly  educated  man  who 
longs  to  write  poetry,  and  possesses  every  qualification 
save  the  poetic  faculty.  There  are  people  who  seem  to 
think  that  only  irresistible  genius  justifies  any  one  in 
adopting  the  stage  as  a vocation.  They  make  it  an  ar- 
gument against  the  profession  that  many  enter  it  from  a 
low  sphere  of  life,  without  any  particular  fitness  for  act- 
ing, but  simply  to  earn  a livelihood  by  doing  the  subor- 
dinate and  mechanical  work  which  is  necessary  in  every 
theatre.  And  so  men  and  women  of  refinement — especi- 
ally women — are  warned  that  they  must  do  themselves 
injury  by  passing  through  the  rank  and  file  during  their 
term  of  probation  in  the  actor’s  craft.  Now,  i need 
not  remind  you  that  on  the  stage  everybody  cannot  be 
great,  any  more  than  students  of  music  can  all  become 
great  musicians  ; but  very  many  will  do  sound  artistic 
work  which  is  of  enormous  value.  As  for  any  question 
of  conduct,  heaven  forbid  that  I should  be  dogmatic  ; 
but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  logical  that  while  genius 
is  its  own  law  in  the  pursuit  of  a noble  art,  all  inferior 
merit  or  ambition  is  to  be  deterred  from  the  same  path 
by  appalling  pictures  of  its  temptations. 

If  our  art  is  worth  anything  at  all,  it  is  worth  the 
honest,  conscientious  self-devotion  of  men  and  women 
who,  while  they  may  not  achieve  fame,  may  have  the 
satisfaction  of  being  workers  in  a calling  which  does 
credit  to  many  degrees  of  talent.  We  do  not  claim  to 
be  any  better  than  our  fellows  in  other  walks  of  life. 
We  do  not  ask  the  jester  in  journalism  whether  his 
quips  and  epigrams  are  always  dictated  by  the  loftiest 
morality  ; nor  do  we  insist  on  knowing  that  the  odor 
of  sanctity  surrounds  the  private  lives  of  lawyers  and 
military  men  before  we  send  our  sons  into  law  and  the 
army.  It  is  impossible  to  point  out  any  vocation  which 
is  not  attended  by  temptations  that  prove  fatal  to  many; 
but  you  have  simply  to  consider  whether  a profession 
has  in  itself  any  title  to  honor,  and  then — if  you  are 
^confident  of  your  capacity — to  enter  it  with  a resolve 


24 


TllK  ART  OF  ACTING. 


to  do  all  that  energy  and  perseverance  can  accomplish. 
The  immortal  part  of  the  stage  is  its  nobler  part.  Ig- 
noble incidents  and  interludes  come  and  go,  but  this 
lasts  on  forever.  It  lives,  like  the  human  soul,  in  the 
body  of  humanity — associated  with  much  that  is  inferior 
and  hampered  by  many  hindrances — but  it  never  sinks 
into  nothingness,  and  never  fails  to  find  new  and  noble 
work  in  creations  of  permanent  and  memorable  excel- 
lence. And  I would  say,  as  a last  word,  to  the  young 
men  in  this  assembly  who  may  at  any  time  resolve  to 
enter  the  dramatic  profession,  that  they  ought  always  to 
fix  their  minds  upon  the  highest  examples  ; that  in  study- 
ing acting  they  should  beware  of  prejudiced  comparisons 
between  this  method  and  that,  but  learn  as  much  as  pos- 
sible from  all  ; that  they  should  remember  that  art  is  as 
varied  as  nature,  and  as  little  suited  to  the  shackles  of  a 
school  ; and,  above  all,  that  they  should  never  forget 
that  excellence  in  any  art  is  attained  only  by  arduous 
labor,  unswerving  purpose,  and  unfailing  discipline. 
This  discipline  is,  perhaps,  the  most  difficult  of  all  tests, 
for  it  involves  the  subordination  of  the  actor’s  personality 
in  every  work  which  is  designed  to  be  a complete  and 
harmonius  picture.  Dramatic  art  nowadays  is  more  co- 
herent, systematic,  and  comprehensive  than  it  has  some- 
times been.  And  to  the  student  who  proposes  to  fill  the 
place  in  this  system  to  which  his  individuality  and  expe- 
rience entitles  him,  and  to  do  his  duty  faithfully  and  well, 
ever  striving  after  greater  excellence,  and  never  yielding 
to  the  indolence  that  is  often  born  of  popularity — to  him 
I say,  with  every  confidence,  that  he  will  choose  a career 
in  which,  if  it  does  not  lead  him  to  fame,  he  will  be  sus- 
tained by  the  honorable  exercise  of  some  of  the  best  facul- 
ties of  the  human  mind. 

And  now  I can  only  thank  you  for  the  patience  with 
which  you  have  listened,  while,  in  a slight  and  imperfect 
way,  I have  dwelt  with  some  of  the  most  important  of 
the  actor’s  responsibilities.  I have  been  an  actor  for 
nearly  thirty  years,  and  what  I have  told  you  is  the  fruit 
of  my  experience,  and  of  an  earnest  and  conscientious 
belief  that  the  calling  to  which  I am  proud  to  belong  is 
worthy  of  the  sympathy  and  support  of  all  intelligent 
people. 


A 


,1. 


